


Hug me, asshole

by everybreatheverymove



Series: It's the Little Things [5]
Category: Veep (TV)
Genre: Canon Compliant, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Light Angst, Post-Canon, Some Humor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-12
Updated: 2018-03-12
Packaged: 2019-03-30 13:28:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,224
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13952565
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/everybreatheverymove/pseuds/everybreatheverymove
Summary: Prompt: "I need a hug."-“Are you-” Her eyes darken, and he’s positive she’s gonna punch him in the face, “Fuck you.”“I’m just… Look, I’m sorry.” He offers, and his arms flap against his sides. His face is anything but comforting, he knows. Well, shit. What does shewant?





	Hug me, asshole

**Author's Note:**

  * For [fionnabhair](https://archiveofourown.org/users/fionnabhair/gifts).



“What the hell?” Dan mutters the words, watching her from across the room.

He makes slow strides to approach her, but he stops himself just before he reaches her side, looking on as an intern hands her a fresh snack.

Her face is redder than he’s ever seen it, but he can’t tell if she’s flushed or just pissed off. (It’s probably the latter. This  _is_  Amy, after all.)

“Finally.”

_Jesus._

“Fine. I’ll sit down with that waste of a womb, and I’ll have tea.”

Selina’s ranting again, probably something about the British ambassador she has a meeting with next week.

Dan doesn’t really give enough of a shit to listen. And he’s too busy watching Amy tear into a blueberry muffin – and almost swallow a piece of the freaking’ wrapper – to  _pretend_  to give a single flying shit.

She has her phone in her free hand, and he can tell it’s ringing because the phone is way brighter than it should be and it’s fucking vibrating in her palm.

“Are you gonna get that?” He asks, and it must have been louder than he thought because everyone turns to look at him, and for once Dan isn’t a fan of being the center of attention.

“No.” The blonde just scowls, shoves in a final piece of muffin before she tosses the casing down into the trashcan beside her desk, “Why?”

“Because it’s ringing and you’ve got, like, fuckin’ iPhone OCD, or some shit.”

Amy mumbles something under her breath, glancing down at her phone just as the call ends. She shrugs, tossing her phone down on the desk, but he can tell she’s hiding something.

“Dan?” Selina calls him, and he whips around to face the petite woman, “Are you done? Would you care to rejoin the other Misfits Toys?” She nods her head towards Kent and Ben.

“Sure.”

Amy’s phone rings again, just then, and she actually steps outside of the room to take the call this time. (Selina doesn’t even bat an eye at her.)

When the room falls silent and they’re all quite clearly waiting for him to  _quip_  something up, he suggests having a “tit à tit” with the brit – even if the thought wasn’t really there and he’s not sure what the fuck one of those would even consist of. Selina buys it.

“Tit à tit.” She rubs her hands together, and her rings clash and grind together, “I don’t  _not_  like it.” She says, “Kent, can we-”

He zones out again as soon as the conversation picks up, and he uncrosses his legs when Amy hangs up the phone outside. It’s not like he’s staring, he’s just…  _What the fuck is up with her?_

“Just go.” Selina kicks him with the toe of her stiletto, in the fucking shin, and he’s up and out of the room before she can change her mind. “Don’t be fucking in that coat closet. The paint’s still wet.”

_Whatever._

“What are you doing?”

The door’s shut behind him, and Amy’s staring up at him now. Her face is a little paler than before, but her eyes are wide (more bug-eyed than their usual), and she looks… teary. She looks on the verge of actual fucking tears.

“What the fuck happened to you?” He definitely didn’t sign up for this. “What, did your battery die?”

“My dad had another heart attack, you prick.” Amy informs him, and her arms are folding over her chest in such a defensive way that he’s not sure they’ll ever uncross.

“Oh.” With a gulp, he tries for a smile (though it’s definitely more sinister than he intends it to be), “Does this mean he won’t be making Thanksgiving dinner?”

“Are you-” Her eyes darken, and he’s positive she’s gonna punch him in the face, “Fuck you.”

“I’m just… Look, I’m sorry.” He offers, and his arms flap against his sides. His face is anything but comforting, he knows. Well, shit. What does she  _want_?

“I need a hug.”

“What?”

He can’t have heard that right.

“Just,” she starts, and she takes two steps closer to him. Her arms don’t outstretch – if anything, she just folds in on herself even more, “Hug me, asshole.”

Well, that took a turn.

“OK.”

Dan doesn’t move to hug her, instead just waits for her to force his arms open, which… yeah, she’s obviously going to do  _that._

“Fuck’s sake.”

He rolls his eyes, shuffles closer until he can pull her into him, wrapping his arms around her smaller frame. She’s still against him, though, stiff as a cardboard cutout, and Dan has to rock her ( _shake_  her) before she sinks into him, “He’s not gonna die.”

“He might.” She doesn’t sound like she’s crying, but he thinks she’s perfected the art of masquerading tears by now. (And he knows she’s crying because he can feel the wet patches start to form on his chest, seeping through his shirt.)

_Great._

Since when is she one for affection? Or, well, touching? Since when is he one to comply?

“So, he  _might_  not make it to Thanksgiving then?” He asks, joking, but maybe she takes it more seriously than he means it. It’s not like- “Ow! What the fuck?”

Her hand is at his waist, having just pinched the taunt skin over his ribs. “Could you be less of an asshole for just five fucking seconds?”

“Fine.” He grumbles, moves his arm from around her waist to her shoulders.

She tucks her head in under his chin, and he can smell the floral shampoo she used that morning. It smells of daisies and-  _Fuck._

“I’m just saying, it’s one less person to feed. And we all know your sister’s little brats eat like fuckin’ Gremlins.”

“You’re not supposed to feed Gremlins, dipshit.”

She’s crying, but she’s still  _her_  because she’s calling him names, and everything is actually kind of… normal.

“Even better.” He whispers, and Amy hiccups, and he knows she’s smirking against his chest – her face is all mushed into his shirt and, oddly, he doesn’t mind. “Now we just need to get the kid to eat his fuckin’ greens.”

“He’s a year old, Dan.” She reminds him, and then her hand drops from his waist and she grabs his belt, hooks a finger through one of the hoops. “He’s healthy.”

“True.” He nods, tilts his head to the side in a way that makes her look up. The tear stains are faint, but they’re there, and he’s  _so_  tempted to tell her- “Well, you look like shit.”

“Fuck off.” She says, pulling on the belt loop, forcing his front into her, “You signed up for this.”

“Any chance I can get a refund? I didn’t sign up for the daddy’s girl tears and all that shit.” He reminds her, “I signed up for you, Brookheimer. Not your whole batshit family.”

“He could die, Dan.”

“Right, but-”

“You married into the batshit so now you’re just gonna have to deal with it.” She pokes his side this time, a little harder than the pinch, “Grow the fuck up.”

“No offence but I think I grew up plenty when you shot my fuckin’ kid outta your vag.”

“Care you grow up some more?”

“What the  _fuck_  is that supposed to mean?”

“I’m pregnant.” She tells him, and then she fucking smirks. “Again.”

_Fuck._


End file.
